Drowning Once A Month, In Between Meals
by volley
Summary: "Could you believe it? Half-unconscious, submerged by the hated element, and enjoying it!" - My Drown Malcolm Month entry for this year.


Kathy Rose's great DMM story made me feel like trying to drown our Armoury Officer yet again. And then I remembered I had a humourous plot bunny somewhere in the drawer, which I had kept just for that Special Month, so I went to look for it. Here it is. I don't know how I managed to turn "Wasn't That A Grand Explosion Month" into something dark, and "Drown Malcolm Month" into something light, but one cannot command one's Muse, LOL!

As usal, grateful thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.

* * *

xxx

Something just wasn't right. In other words: things were too right to be right.

His mind was running in circles. With a sigh, Archer drummed the table with his fingers, as he waited for…

The door's companel.

"Come."

While he straightened in his seat, Archer went through a series of facial expressions, ranging from an open smile to a frown of concern, none of them seeming totally appropriate to the circumstance. The door opening put an end to the unscheduled gymnastics, freezing on his face the wary look of the moment.

"You asked to see me, Captain?"

Neat as if he were just starting his shift, instead of ending it after one heck of a day, Reed appeared in the door frame. Only the bandage on the side of his head spoke of mishap.

"Malcolm. Come in, come in."

Yeah, also his slight limp.

Reed stepped inside the ready room and stood at attention. For once Archer didn't mind the man's formality: one positive thing about that was that the grey gaze was fixed straight ahead, allowing him to be less self-conscious about the propriety of his own expression. He shouldn't let his guard down, though: Malcolm's peripheral vision was said to be phenomenal. Apparently Rostov and the armoury crew had a wager going: whoever first spotted the eyes that must necessarily be on the side of the Lieutenant's head would win the Klingon dagger the Engineer had come into possession of – and Archer didn't want to know how.

Archer opened his mouth; then closed it again. There was a second positive aspect, actually, to Reed's stance: he could study the man with a touch more ease than if he were at ease.

The conundrum almost distracted him from the task, but he quickly refocused. Malcolm was… Archer narrowed his eyes. Malcolm _was_ at ease, for heaven's sake! There was a detectable lack of tension about his Armoury Officer, even standing at attention as he was.

He knew it. Few things could be more wrong than that.

The grey eyes shifted briefly to him, and not a cloud was in them. Triggered into action by that flicker of a glance, Archer shot up and started pacing.

"How are you feeling?" he enquired, in his fatherly tone.

"Fine, Sir, thank you."

His back to the Officer, Archer gave himself a roll of the eyes. That wasn't how he was going to find out anything about the man, and he should know that by now. Malcolm would be 'fine' even on death's door. The thing was, today he _had_ been on death's door. Today Malcolm really should _not_ be _fine_. Yet he looked it. He looked _finer_ than usual. Which meant he most definitely wasn't. Fine.

Did that make sense?

Oh hell! Fine, not fine… Malcolm had… Archer winced. Actually, what the hell had happened to Malcolm today? He should have drowned, technically. Yet, he hadn't. Not that he was complaining, mind you, but… Well, there it was, he was always coming back to the same spot: things were too fine to be fine.

Rubbing two fingers on his temples, Archer ducked his head under the next beam in the low ceiling, inwardly cursing his lack of caution. He should have brought Müller along to that planet, not Reed. If only he hadn't been afraid to hurt the Lieutenant's feelings…

"Sir, if I may," Reed said, dragging him out of his musings, "I have been thinking about a few security protocols we can implement, to avoid situations like today's."

_Situations_ like today's? Archer stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to look blankly at his Armoury Officer. Malcolm was still wearing that incongruous smile that had been plastered on his face when he'd popped up from the waters of that lake – and that alone was strong evidence that the man was losing it.

He must talk to Phlox. Again. The Doc _had_ to be wrong. Among his impressive inventory of medical degrees, Phlox also had one in psychology. Let him put it to good use.

"Sir?" Malcolm wondered, like saying 'are you with me?'

"Security protocols," Archer repeated mechanically, slowly awakening to the meaning of the words. "Such as what, wearing an amulet?" he blurted out.

His current expression was probably not what you'd expect on the face of someone entrusted with the responsibility of Earth's flagship. But Reed was apparently about to explain what protocols he could devise to prevent someone who's walking peacefully on a lake-side path from nearly drowning in said lake because: 1, he steps on a rock that 2, suddenly bites him in the calf, causing him to 3, jump and land on a patch of grass that 4, acts as a bouncing mat, propelling him in the air high enough that 5, he bangs his head on a tree branch before 6, plunging in the water and sinking half-unconscious to the bottom.

"Such as wearing headgear," Malcolm corrected.

Archer blinked. "You want us to go around with helmets like… like World War One soldiers?"

"I was thinking more like some speleologists, Sir. And we'd be wearing hard hats only when we visit a new natural environment, of course."

Archer paused, momentarily distracted by some rather weird mental images.

"Also, it would be wise to adopt the precaution of using a hand scanner at all times, when we visit a new planet, to avoid mistaking the local fauna for rocks," Malcolm continued. "I can't blame that critter for reacting as he did."

"Ha. And what about the elastic ground?" Archer asked, as he resumed pacing. "Any idea how to prevent walking into something like that?"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, the smile still on his lips. "Not yet, Sir. I'm working on it, though."

"Yes, well, think about it," Archer said, unable to keep a touch of sarcasm from entering his voice. He regretted it immediately. He had summoned Malcolm to make sure he was all right, and here he was, making out-of-place irony. He stopped again, and turned to his Armoury officer. "I'm sorry, Malcolm; it's been a long afternoon." Passing a hand through his hair, he went on, a lot more gently, "The reason I called you here, actually, is that… Well, you told me about your aqua-phobia that time. And after what happened to you…"

The un-Reed-like smile grew wider. "I very nearly drowned, didn't I?" Malcolm wondered, as if he had very nearly won the lottery. He shrugged, turning more serious. "But I didn't."

_Better luck next time_ seemed to be the natural conclusion of that reasoning. Archer almost reached to feel the man's forehead. "Are you sure you are feeling okay?" he wondered. "Phlox can help you, if you need someone to talk to."

"I assure you, Sir, I'm perfectly fine." Reed straightened his shoulders, which had sagged by a micron. "I'll let you have my report by tomorrow morning. If that will be all, Captain…"

"Uh, yes. At least for the moment." Archer allowed himself an open wince. "Get some rest and… You may sleep in tomorrow, if you wish."

"Thank you, Sir. But I hardly think it fit for the head of a department to sleep longer than his subordinates. Good night, Sir."

With that and a sharp nod, Malcolm turned to finger the door command, and limped out of the ready room.

The moment the door closed Archer blew out a breath. "Oh, boy," he said out loud.

* * *

Stepping out of the ready room, Malcolm flashed a look around, to the crew manning the Bridge. They were all C-shift personnel, people with whom he didn't generally work in close contact, but the vague curiosity he could read on their faces was not – he instinctively knew – due to their lack of familiarity. News of his 'accident' had obviously already made a few laps around the ship. Well, it was to be expected. On a closed environment like Enterprise, rumours travelled fast.

Malcolm smiled to himself. Today he really couldn't care less if people stole glances at him – and wasn't _that_ a novelty. It was also a great feeling. He felt in such a blessed good mood. In fact, today he hadn't even minded being summoned by the Captain, something which on any normal day would've made him nervous. The funny thing was that his lack of nervousness seemed to have made _Archer_ nervous, which thing he had enjoyed enormously.

Today simply wasn't a normal day; and the hell if he could figure out why. He should either be dead or having a good talk with Phlox, or even Trip; and instead he was feeling great. Even Phlox hadn't been able to explain how he had survived five minutes without breathing, and without even showing signs of having inhaled any liquid.

Perhaps he was in shock without realising it. Yes, because he had nearly _drowned_, for heaven's sake. The thought alone should make him shudder. Whether he was in shock or not, he should really try to drown a bit more often: all he could recall of those long minutes underwater was, surprisingly, a wonderful sensation of… _wellbeing. _Could you believe it? Half-unconscious, submerged by the hated element, and enjoying it!

Crazy. Well, he'll take crazy over dead any day.

Malcolm limped into the elevator and pressed the button to the Mess hall deck. He was hungry. Famished. Decon, Phlox's visit, a shower and Archer's summon had ferried him well past his normal supper time.

He was humming a tune, when the lift stopped at a different floor and Hoshi appeared.

"Lieutenant," she said, running a discreet but noticeable check-up of him. She stepped inside. "How are you, Sir?"

Her tone was a little hesitant, and Malcolm countered it with what seemed to be his specialty today: a smile. He couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at the idea that people were likely to ask him how he was over and over, in the next few hours.

"Fine, Hoshi, thank you. But call me Malcolm; after all, we are off duty. Care to join me for a bite to eat? I'm starved."

Surprise flitted across her deep, brown and oh-so-lovely eyes, and Malcolm mentally rewound the tape to see if he had said anything improper. Ah, surely it wasn't _what_ he had said, but _how_ he had said it: with a buoyancy that wasn't expected of him, especially today, especially around a woman. It managed to make Hoshi tongue-tied.

"Uh, I'm glad and… well… yes, I was actually going to the Mess hall myself, for a cup of cocoa," she stuttered.

The soft blush that coloured her cheeks as she turned unnecessarily to press again the button to the Mess-hall deck restored a bit of Malcolm's natural awkwardness. He realised he was staring unabashedly, and averted his eyes in a hurry. What the hell was with him today?

Hoshi cleared her voice and stood straight. "I'm sorry about what happened today," she said, casting him a quick glance as the lift started. "When I scanned the planet with T'Pol, before the away mission went down, we didn't detect any…" Suddenly her lip twitched and she bit it, as if to restrain a smile. "Rock-critters or bouncing grass," she finished, a quiver in her voice.

Malcolm let out the laugh she was suppressing. "_Wild_ fauna, not to mention flora, wasn't it? But not to worry," he reassured her. "It takes more than a rock-critter or a patch of bouncing grass to defeat your valiant Armoury Officer."

The lift stopped and they exited.

"It seems the critter had sharp teeth, though," she commented, casting a glance at Malcolm's leg as he limped along.

"The little devil! That it had."

There was a pause, during which Hoshi's mirth gauge suddenly dropped to zero.

"I heard you plunged in that lake and that…"

Her voice quivered with a very different emotion now. Malcolm turned to see on her lovely features the fear he had not experienced.

"It takes more than that too, apparently, to send me to kingdom come," he said warmly.

* * *

T'Pol exited the lift on the Bridge and walked lithely down the few steps to her station.

"I need to check something, Ensign," she said to the young replacement manning it. "You may take a break. I will page you when I am finished."

She slipped into the vacated seat and prepared to scan the planet. They were still orbiting it, something she had expressly asked Captain Archer to do. There must be a logical explanation to what had happened to Mister Reed, and she intended to find it.

Clearly, they had not scanned the place thoroughly enough, before the expedition. She and Hoshi had concentrated on finding out whether the thick vegetation supported any predators big enough to be dangerous to humans, and none had come up. They had also checked whether there were any rapacious birds, and the search had once again been negative. They had studied the geology of the place, to see if there were any seismic dangers. They had, however, disregarded the lake, as the water temperature was not comfortable enough for swimming. The away team were only supposed to take samples of it, as of the flora and rocks. Now, though, it was time to take a closer look at the expanse of water.

T'Pol's elegant fingers imparted a few commands. She bent over her work, trying to fathom the secrets of the lake. She magnified; then swivelled in her chair to bend over her special viewer, stopping in mid-action when she was struck by a sudden thought. She had let the sensors record data all afternoon. Time to check those recordings…

* * *

"Malcolm, Hoshi!"

As soon as they had crossed the Mess hall threshold, a familiar voice had sounded. Trip was sitting at a table with Travis. So they too were late for supper, Malcolm mused. Well, they hadn't been summoned by the Captain for a how-are-you-holding-up speech, but had gone through decon as well; and had undoubtedly also taken a long shower to chase the chill of an unscheduled swim in cold waters from their bones. By the way, had he thanked them, already? His memory of the afternoon was far too fuzzy.

"How're you doin'?" Trip asked a moment later, echoed by Travis.

Malcolm set his tray down and held the chair for Hoshi, before sitting down himself across from the Engineer. "Very well, thank you." Maybe a variation to his usual 'fine, thank you' was due. Trip wasn't impressed.

"O-o-okay," the Engineer drew out, as you do when you're not sure about someone's sanity; or to prompt him to go on.

Malcolm flashed him a smile, ignoring the subtext, and dug into his meal. It was the silence, after a while, which made him look up, his mouth full. He pushed the morsel down, shifting his gaze around the table to meet three fixed pairs of eyes. "What?"

"Nothin'," Trip replied with a shrug, for the group. "You do a circus act, drop half-unconscious into a cold lake, stay under five long minutes, and re-emerge with a smile on your face. Normal business."

Malcolm sighed. "Look, except for a bump on my head and a few stitches on my calf, I'm fine. What more do you want to know?"

"Try: what happened to you during those five minutes?" Trip swiftly replied.

"I… can't remember," Malcolm said, putting his fork down. "I was half-unconscious, yes?" He pointed at the plaster on the side of his head.

"You can't stay without oxygen for five minutes, and re-emerge as if nothing has happened," Trip insisted.

"You're talking about our mighty Armoury Officer," Travis said, face alight with amusement. "_He_ can."

"I'm glad I wasn't part of the team," Hoshi commented deadpan.

"Yeah, you saved yourself a dive in cold waters," Trip said likewise.

"I'm sorry about that," Malcolm said in earnest. "And if I haven't done it already, let me thank you guys for what you did, you really---"

"A _useless_ dive in cold waters," Trip cut him off, purposefully addressing Hoshi, "because in the end, when we were already despairing, he pops up, not even out of breath, with a big smile on his face." He turned again to Malcolm. "You've got to at least explain that."

Malcolm looked at each in turn. "What do you want me to say? I don't know why but it was…" Bloody hell, the only word that came to his mind was… "_fun_," he blurted out.

That made Trip blink as if he were trying to wake up from a dream; Travis mutter a soft 'oh, man'; and Hoshi freeze with her cup in mid air.

He couldn't blame them.

A long moment later, the still life group melted into action again. Trip speared a piece of his pan-fried catfish and raised the fork, waving it and its load in Malcolm's direction.

"Next thing you'll tell us is that you're turnin' into a fish."

"Have you grown scales, already?" Travis wondered with a high-pitched chuckle.

"Gills?" Trip laid on thick.

"Guys…" Hoshi scolded mildly.

Malcolm smiled and shook his head, unaffected by the gibes. Nothing would bother him, today. He picked up his own fork and went for those stringy veggies Chef had stocked up on, he couldn't remember on which planet.

"I like this stuff," he said cheerfully. "It looks like---"

Forkful in front of his eyes without actually seeing it, he broke off abruptly. He'd had a sudden flash of swaying algae; long, dark-green, gently swaying algae that enveloped him like many caressing arms.

"Malcolm?"

When he refocused, it was behind the raised fork, on questioning blue eyes.

"… Algae," he finished thoughtfully.

"Tastes like it too, if you ask me," Travis commented meaningfully. "But I guess growing up on a cargo ship gets you used to eating anything."

Malcolm looked at their Helmsman blankly, confused by the different train of thought.

"You mean there were algae, in that lake?" Hoshi asked gently.

It took a woman's intuition.

Malcolm shifted his gaze to her. "Yes, actually." He frowned in curiosity. "I think I just had a flashback of when I was underwater: there were algae around me."

"And?" Trip prompted warily.

Malcolm thought for a moment. "And nothing. It's normal, I suppose, for a lake to have algae," he said dismissively, going back to his meal.

Shoving the forkful in his mouth, he wondered at the detachment with which he could talk of such things. He had actually relived a moment of his near-drowning experience; virtually _seen_ himself tangled in the water vegetation, and still he experienced no fear. In fact, the memory had warmth to it, as if those algae had cradled and lulled him, instead of trapping him in a hostile environment. Perhaps he ought to follow Archer's not so veiled advice and go talk to Phlox.

"Uh – yeah, I guess most lakes have them," Travis said, sounding as if he was attempting to fill the awkward silence that had fallen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw him exchange an urgent glance with Trip. Like Archer, they must all think that the experience had unhinged him.

"I… Did I tell ya guys that I rescheduled the movie we didn't get to screen tonight to tomorrow?"

Trip had metaphorically grabbed the relay baton from Travis.

"I thought the crew'd be disappointed if they had to wait till next week."

Ah, so he was trying to steer the conversation away from the supposedly taboo subject. Malcolm smiled inwardly; Trip was such a friend. He had no doubt that the Engineer was planning a heart-to-heart conversation, later on, in the privacy of either of their quarters.

"Great idea," Hoshi echoed, catching on to the game and backing Trip up.

Curiously, Travis's eyes flashed a warning. But of course! Malcolm almost slapped his forehead.

"Cameron's _Titanic_, isn't it?" he threw in with nonchalance. "Good movie. I'm not a great fan of Di Caprio, but Kate Winslet is a darling in that. That scene when they are wading through the flooded corridors of the ship, chest-deep in water… Fabulous, very dramatic."

With that he went on eating, pretending not to have noticed his friends' bewildered expressions. Wicked. He was having way too much fun. Okay, it was settled: drowning once a month, in between meals.

"I love Kate's hair in that film," Hoshi took up from there, a bit hesitantly. Malcolm saw her exchange a glance with Trip who gave her a small encouraging nod. "Maybe because my hair is straight, I've always been fond of flowing locks."

Malcolm stopped chewing. _Flowing locks… flowing locks_… Those two words tickled his mind, though for the life of him he couldn't place them anywhere. Shrugging it off, he reached for his glass.

"I love, uhm, other things about Kate Winslet," Travis said with a full – and fully naughty – smile, eyes sparkling.

"Travis!" Hoshi exclaimed.

"Can't blame the man," Trip chuckled. "She has nice b---"

"Trip!"

"A full bust," Trip amended contritely, eyebrows lifting in an innocent way.

Malcolm's laugh died in his throat. _Flowing locks and nice_… Oh, bloody hell.

"I like the kissing scene," Trip went on. "You know, when they're standing on the bow of the ship."

The conversation, which had started as an excuse to distract him, was becoming more animated. Malcolm blinked, the voices of his friends, who seemed to have forgotten all about him, no more than a background noise.

_Kissing_??? _Ki--- _

Oh. Bloody. Hell. Okay, he _was_ going to see Phlox. But… Malcolm swallowed. Could, by some stretch of the imagination, it all be true? In a weird, preposterous, unbelievable way it would actually make sense. One thing was sure: the hell if he was going to write _that part_ in his report; or tell Captain Archer; or even Trip. No way.

Caressing algae, flowing hair, nice b… uhm, _a full bust_, and… Ah, hell, no, it couldn't be: generally kissing took your breath _away_. The only thought made a blush creep up his neck.

"Lieutenant."

The single word, coming at the time it did, had on Malcolm the effect of an electric jolt. He startled and jerked to the voice, which was the unmistakable toneless one of their resident Vulcan.

Of one accord, Trip, Hoshi and Travis stopped talking.

"Lieutenant," she repeated, "I have found out what happened to you during the time you were submerged."

Trip's eyes went wide. "Really?"

Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but no voice came out.

"Indeed," T'Pol went on. She looked at Hoshi. "We should have scanned the lake, Ensign, before the away party left. There appears to be a strange mammal in its waters. I have a sensors' recording of this afternoon's accident."

A recording, no less! Malcolm felt sweat break on his forehead. A general malaise took hold of him.

"A strange mammal?" Hoshi wondered in surprise. "What does it look like?"

Despite her Vulcan poise, Malcolm could swear that T'Pol looked slightly perplexed. "From what I can tell," she replied, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline, "it resembles what Humans call a ---"

"Ahhhgh!" Malcolm cried out, bringing a hand to his head and staggering to his feet.

This was no time to heed honour. This was definitely time to lie, pretend, exaggerate and cower out.

In a second, everyone was standing, looking ready to catch him in case he fainted.

"A stab through my head," Malcolm stuttered, grimacing. "I'd better go see Phlox." Hand on his forehead, he turned to T'Pol. "Would you accompany me, Subcommander?" he said, in a pained voice. "I really want to hear more about your findings."

"Of course," T'Pol gracefully agreed.

Under the eyes of his worried friends, Malcolm made his way out of the Mess hall. The hunchback of Notre Dame couldn't have limped more heavily.

They started towards the lift. He knew his doom was probably only being postponed; but it was better than nothing. Perhaps he could devise a way to blackmail T'Pol into silence; definitely he had to devise one to destroy that recording.

"Are you feeling any better, Lieutenant?"

Suddenly realising his thoughts had distracted him from his ruse, Malcolm winced slightly, returning to play his part. "The headache comes and goes," he croaked out.

"As I was telling you," the Subcommander said after a moment, while they walked along a blessedly empty corridor, "the mammal the sensors detected and which appears to have saved you resembles what Humans call a mermaid."

"You were saved by a _mermaid_?"

Malcolm's heart plunged under his feet. They had turned a corner and run smack into the last person he'd wanted to meet.

"Captain," T'Pol said, unruffled as usual. "I was about to inform you."

Archer blinked in surprise; then he tightened his mouth, mirth superseding the disbelief in his green gaze.

Malcolm let out a nervous little laugh. "That's preposterous, Sir, mermaids do not exist. It must be a different kind of… _mammal_."

Mammal it certainly was, considering what he could remember of its… her… _full bust_.

"And how did she – er – _it_ save you, exactly?" the Captain wondered.

It was T'Pol who replied. "I can tell you that, Captain," she said. "Although the sensors' recording is not perfectly clear, you unmistakably make out the mammal giving Mister Reed oxygen, mouth-to-mouth."

Malcolm felt genuinely dizzy.

Archer's eyebrows lifted while his mouth inexorably lost its fight and curved up. "She _kissed_ you?"

How had such a perfect day turned into _this_? Malcolm swallowed.

"I don't remember, Captain," he lied shamelessly. "I… I doubt I would kiss a mermaid, even if I were about to drown!"

His vision was blurring, his legs felt like jello. Maybe the bump on his head was more serious than Phlox had diagnosed, maybe he could escape this torture. Ah, yes, unconsciousness!

Welcoming the weakness that was seeping into him, Malcolm let it take hold of him and started crumpling to the floor. Archer's strong arms broke his fall and lowered him gently to the deck-plating.

"Call Phlox, Subcommander," Malcolm heard him order, concern in his voice.

But he didn't open his eyes. Sickbay and a privacy curtain sounded just fine, right now.

* * *

It was rather late at night when Trip made his predictable appearance. He rang the doorbell at Malcolm's quarters and stuck his head through as soon as the door opened.

"You okay?" he asked, unmindful of the hour, which was close to twenty-three-hundred.

The man looked to be up to mischief, and Malcolm, who had taken advantage of Phlox's nightly toilet routine to break out of Sickbay and take shelter in his room (it was against the Geneva Convention to submit prisoners to torture, and those revolting sounds definitely fell within the category), tossed him a 'yeah, fine' accompanied by a tired smile, meant to send him on his way. It had the opposite effect.

He should've known. Their Chief Engineer's head was made of some very hard natural element yet unknown to the scientific community; when Trip set his mind to something, nothing – not even seeing his best friend in sleeping attire – would divert him from his goal. Now he crossed the threshold with a bouncing step that was highly suspicious, and the doors swished closed behind him.

"So…" he drawled straight out. "Have you remembered anythin' more about your rescue?"

So much for subtlety.

The question, in conjunction with the twinkle in Trip's eyes, triggered all sorts of alarms. "Rescue?" Malcolm wondered, narrowing his gaze. "Whoever talked of a _rescue_?" He may be a little rattled by recent developments, but he was certain the word hadn't been uttered in the Mess hall, either by him or by T'Pol.

He let his gaze bore into Trip's face, but the Engineer wasn't affected: jerking his head sideways, his mouth twitching downwards though the blue eyes smiled, he said, innocently, "Well, when I heard ya'd fainted in the corridors, I wanted to see how you were doin', naturally."

"Naturally," Malcolm echoed warily.

"And in Sickbay I bumped into T'Pol – metaphorically, of course." A wiggling of eyebrows punctuated that aside. "Oh, and the Capt'n was there too. You were off limits, so I joined them. She was explainin' things."

Malcolm blinked. "She was?" he choked out.

"Your _rescue_," Trip unnecessarily specified.

Fan-bloody-tastic. The damn man looked like a bottle of champagne about to expel its cork. Malcolm didn't dare ask what exactly he had learnt, though all that repressed mirth pointed straight in one direction.

"In great detail," Trip added meaningfully.

Malcolm repressed a groan. This was the end of him. Something definitely had to be done. A strategy of silence had to be developed.

Trip's lips finally curved up. "Curious fauna, on that planet, huh? Bitin' rock-creatures, storybook mammals…" The smile was now splitting his face. "Mouth-to-mouth?" he wondered, eyes growing wide. He shook his head. "No wonder you came up smiling. So... how's kissin' a mermaid?"

For a long moment Malcolm studied Trip's expectant face.

"Don't remember," he lied tersely. Seamlessly, he went on, "Trip, you know a couple of weeks ago when you asked me to help you sneak in the galley for a midnight snack?" He put on a faraway expression. "I think you inadvertently knocked something down…"

Maybe it wasn't too late to stem the blood-loss, dam the flood, cut the losses and swear the man – whose smile had suddenly fallen – to secrecy.

"Ah, yes." Malcolm snapped his fingers, as if he had suddenly remembered. "It was that opened hot paprika jar. And it fell... it fell..."

"In the ravioli stuffing," Trip provided darkly.

"Riiiiight. You gave the mix a good stir, saying the paprika would likely add a bit of taste to those – and I quote – _insipid things. _If I'm not mistaken, you also commented that if that was the recipe of Chef's grandmother, then the lady had been a lousy cook."

Trip winced. "Ya know I didn't mean any of that! I was a little tipsy; we had downed a few glasses..."

"Strange, I don't remember that detail," Malcolm said lightly. "I do remember, though, that Phlox was rather busy, the following day; half the crew wanted to kill Chef, and Chef swore that if he ever found who had---"

"Alright, I get the idea," Trip cut him off deadpan.

Malcolm started to relax. "Then we're agreed: you'll keep your mouth shut and I'll do the same."

"What about Hoshi and Travis?" Trip asked. "I'm sure they're curious to know more about that mammal, after what T'Pol mentioned in the Mess hall."

"I'll have a word with T'Pol. Unlike you, she probably doesn't need to be blackmailed to be discreet." Grabbing Trip by an arm, Malcolm turned him in the right direction. "And now, if you don't mind... It's been a rather long day."

"Okay," the Engineer agreed a bit too easily.

He hadn't taken more than a couple of steps to the door when he stopped and turned to flash one of his luminous smiles.

"I thought mermaids were supposed to be dangerous to sailors, not rescue them," he chuckled.

"I'm no sailor," Malcolm countered. Smugly, he added, "I suppose no one can resist my charm."

His good mood was returning, now that danger no longer loomed. Okay, he'd have to talk to T'Pol and dodge the Captain for a few days, till he felt confident enough to look him in the eye again; but no one else would---

"Ya know," Trip said, piercing into his musings. He was now standing in the corridor, and looked in both directions before turning conspiratorially back to him. "I'd be careful, if I were you. T'Pol can be discreet, I'll grant you that, but I bet Travis is plannin' even now how to get his hands on that recording. You got anythin' on him?"

"What do you mean?" Malcolm asked blankly.

"Blackmail material."

_Damndamndamn_...

"Well, I'll let you rest." Trip flipped a salute. "Night, Mal."

"Wait!" Malcolm scrunched his eyes closed; then re-opened them. How had such a perfect day turned into _this_? – he wondered once more. He looked up and down the corridor as Trip had just done; then grabbed the Engineer and pulled him inside again. "What do you suggest I do?"

Trip shrugged, "There could be a sudden equipment malfunction in the science console, erasing all the _pertinent _data. I'd be glad to arrange it for you."

Malcolm's suspicious nature warred against the need to believe Trip was genuinely offering to help him. No, no, the latter was too far-fetched.

"What do you want as payback?" he asked outright.

Trip grinned. "I'll let you know. Nothing much, I promise. Take it or leave it."

Malcolm gave him a murderous look. "I think I'll take care of that recording without your help, thank you."

"Hmm. The Capt'n and T'Pol would suspect you right away. A computer malfunction or a sudden energy surge are a lot safer, believe me."

He was right, of course.

"Fine. Deal," Malcolm finally yielded.

"Thatta boy." Trip patted him on the back. Turning, he triggered the door to close.

"And what are you doing now?" Malcolm wondered warily.

"Getting my reward; advance payment." Trip dug a hand in his breast pocket and retrieved a data pad, which he waved in front of Malcolm's nose. "Break out the beer. This movie promises to be a lot better than _Titanic_."

Malcolm glimpsed at the film's title – _Splash_ – and groaned. He'd never live that down.

"And then there's this," Trip chuckled, producing another pad. He wiggled his eyebrows. "The _real_ thing."

Just as Malcolm was silently cursing a blue streak, Trip handed it to him.

"I thought you might want to keep the only copy, since we're gonna delete the original," he said, as his eyes lost their teasing glint.

Malcolm blinked. "You didn't?..."

"Of course not."

Trip's hand came down heavily on Malcolm's back, making him stumble.

"After all, there's a limit to what a friend can share!"

THE END

Looking forward to all those nice review alert notices!


End file.
